Their Crush
by Tu Es Chicago
Summary: The mutual love-hate crush between Maka Albarn and Harvar D. Eclair. He likes to play games and she wants to crack his shell. Chapters posted in twos. Collab with HowLovelyMyLunacy, her as Maka, me as Harvar. See where their lovegame shall take them.
1. Protective Shell?

"Madness is infectious..."

Maka raised a brow, totally ignoring the professor that she normally admired. Instead, Maka Albarn's eyes drifted across the class room, over spiky hair and asymmetrical stripes. The typically note-taking pencil had scribbled to a halt, mind far from the possible contamination links between madness and witch blood. The pencil was dropped, fingers instead twirling locks of pigtail-bound hair.

Her attention was given to something of a different nature entirely, a subject that had previously never crossed Maka's fifteen-year-old mind. Interestingly enough, she found herself gazing at pair across the room, the very seat of the enemy.

No, most _definitely_ not Ox Ford.

No her eyes rested on the quieter, more stony of the two. Long dark hair swept away from his face, pierced ears, pressed dress shirt and a stoic hatred of everything around him? Mhm..._that_ was the boy that Maka had been staring at for the past fifteen to twenty minutes.

Harvar D. Eclair.

Maka Albarn did not dislike Harvar D. Eclair. And unlike his stupid, insufferable meister, she did not hate him. She _loathed_ Harvar D. Eclair. An addictive, _seething_ detest, far deeper than her mere...pity, for Ox Ford. But Harvar?

Harvar was different. Ox was direct and moronically snippy, always trying and failing to be superior. He was bothersome and annoying, but Maka was better than that. Harvar? Harvar was so calm about the whole thing, as if he was above conflict. He never really spoke, never bothering to note the lowly students around him. Even her. _Especially_ her.

Maka Albarn was quite a focused young girl, self-righteous in the eyes on some. She knew what she wanted and virtually always got it, whether it be a beautiful grade or a beautiful dress. Harvar didn't give it to her. He barely even _looked _at her. And oh, how she wanted him to look at her.

No, not like_ that_. She didn't need him to... be at all _attracted_ to her. That was by _no means_ her goal. She merely wanted him to at least acknowledge her, to admit defeat when she _clearly_ beat him. To look her in the eye when she spoke to him once in a while, that'd be nice.

But that was the very thing that sparked her interest. His lack of caring, that detachment of his. Maka was a sucker for a challenge, and he was the most impossible challenge she'd ever had to face.

_The fact that he was totally gorgeous didn't help._

Well, it helped a little. Maka did regrettably admit that he, her nemesis, was _mouthwatering. _The perfect combination of the two best traits a male could have were perfectly combined to make a perfect specimen. He had the sophisticated, classy look down: nicely groomed, well dressed and not a hair out of place. But then? Then he had to go and make himself a bad boy, which in truth, _no _teenage girl could resist. It might have been the glasses, the chains, the rings in his ear or the muscles that laced his arms and chest. But the overall result was too much for even pedigree Maka Albarn to really resist.

The boy across the room flipped a page, his shades sliding down his nose to accommodate. And while his fingers remained poised on the paper, his eyes, for a brief second, drifted up to meet hers.

Wow. It was a pity he kept those things covered all the time, his eyes were gorgeous...

Maka's heart fluttered, determined to hold his gaze for as long as possible.

The left corner of his mouth twitched, and his eyes returned to the textbook.

_What? What was that? She'd had him! He thinks this is funny, doesn't he? The nerve, the..._

Attempting to hide her displeasure, she attempted to make herself look busy, grasping her discarded pencil and managing to at least pretend to be learning something. She refused to give him the satisfaction of distracting her. She was better than him, that's all there was to it. She had to prove her regency, her clear superiority over the likes of him! Why of course that was it! Honestly...

Maka glanced down at the little scribbled hearts on her notebook with shock.

_What? No, I couldn't have just drawn that, could I have? There's no way I could have...Hearts? Really?_

She scoffed, looking back up.

He looked back down, the corner of his mouth twitching once more.

_He looked at me..._

No! No, no, _no_. She would not be thinking like this, she simply refused to! He was horrid and less feeling then a _statue_! There was absolutely no reason for her to think this way, and to think about _this_ over her studies! It was pointless! Inconceivable! Preposterous!

Who was she kidding?

So Maka Albarn had a liking for Harvar D. Eclair. It didn't mean anything, why would it? How could it? It was merely a whim, a temporary fascination. He was attractive. And annoying. That was all.

No, that was not all.

Harvar was so refined, so controlled in all of his movements. Everything he did was with purpose, focused and intense. Not only was that was Maka aimed for personally, but it was a rather alluring quality in her eyes. There was just something sensual about a man who holds his body as if he _owned _it. Not in the overblown, arrogant way that Black*Star did, but as if he simply belonged in his skin. He didn't need to scream it it was just the _truth_. He was like that about everything. So calmly assured, so strong-minded that he didn't even need petty insults or boasts to prove how suited he is for the world around him.

And then, there was the intensity. For instance, when he had looked at Maka that first time, she felt like he saw her. Way past the light makeup and outer shell, he saw her. It was scary as hell, bt probably one of the most thrilling experiences of her life. And Maka had experienced many the thrilling situation. He was just so...cutting, in his gaze. It was like he could read who she _was_. And he had the nerve to smile, or at least, as much of a smile as he ever made, and look down. It was like she wasn't enough. He could just look at her and think, _I've seen better._ She hated it. _She loved it. _He made her think, made her feel, questioned the authority she was born with. Not even question. He ignored it, and in doing so made it twist and redefine itself.

He looked at her and said, _prove it._

And oh, how she wanted to prove it. What Maka would give to look him in the eye and let him see just what she was capable of. _But the thing was_, Maka thought, _maybe that's what he wants me to do. Maybe, he does think I'm worth it. Maybe he's just waiting for me to..._

And what made him so quiet, so walled off? A boy as handsome and intelligent as him could get whatever company he wanted. Was it really just him being aloof? Or is there some other reason as to why he's hesitant?

Maka's inner bleeding heart the same monster that drew her to Crona, now made her think. Maybe, there was more to him. Maybe, he was made stony for a reason. Protective shields are meant to protect, right? Who was the monster he needed to hide from, why did he decide to protect himself? From everyone?

_I bet I could protect him if he wanted..._

Okay. So maybe it was a crush. Maybe. Whatever.

"Alright class. Turn in your papers. The bell is about to ring."

Maka snapped up, eyes wide.

Her paper now was dripping with flowers and hearts and little Harvar inscribed doodles.

Stein wasn't going to like this one.

_Damn Harvar!_


	2. The Game

"Madness is infectious," Stein went on, Harvar only half-listening. This was in the textbook, which he'd read twice. Generally Harvar, of course, loved the Professor's perspectives, and quite admired the combinations of his sadism, cynicism and total lack of emotion sometimes. If there was the sort of person, aside from his late father whom Harvar wanted to emulate, it was either Stein or Sherlock Holmes.

But Harvar had another plan in mind. He scratched at the paper, adding on his analysis, facts, retention and his own witty commentary, which sometimes impressed even their serious professor. He was done very quickly, naturally and proofread it when first he caught her eye. She didn't know it, because his sunglasses surely had enough shade and glare from across the room. She'd been angry at Ox, certainly, as was the custom of any proximity he ever had to Maka Albarn.

He liked her. While Ox would never acknowledge it, she was as clever as either of them and just as powerful. She was an adversary worth having, if such things exhilarated you. But Harvar saw no need for conflict. Maka Albarn was intelligent, Maka Albarn was independent, Maka Albarn was... somehow sexually enticing.

What? Oh, bother. What a waste, his thinking this. Maka did not like him. Harvar was aware. Threatened by his intellect, attracted and repelled by his dress and coldness, Maka hated and was intrigued. A waste of time. Ox would screech his head off at the mere thought. And Maka, while she held many of his teenage fetishes, which intrigued and tantalized him, was off-limits.

But she couldn't stop looking at him. He saw through his shell of glasses. Finished with the paper, he pulled out the _Hound of Baskervilles_ so as not to be idle, even in his little game. Maka Albarn... the name sounded pleasant in his mind's voice, echoing even as the antics of Holmes should have whisked him away. She kept looking, and he met her eyes at just the right light.

She was angry. Gods, she was angry with him. It was fun, that he could have this effect on her! The bitch deserved it for distracting him from Conan Doyle. He looked down, allowing his glasses to fall as he seeming concentrated on Holmes' near-death. _Oh, Maka, if you fall for this, I win_, he thought. As if he'd allow his glasses to slip without his knowing.

He looked up now, seeing her green eyes meet his. He held them for just a second, just enough for her petite jaw to drop, for them to be locked in an eye-to-eye embrace. Then, he let his dear know he'd won, with just the smallest quirk of the jaw no one else could possibly see.

Maka Albarn. She was smart, she was small, she was innocent, she was sexy, she could hold her own. If only, if only... He shook his head as the bell rang. They likely couldn't do anything with the affection he felt or the tension she wouldn't hide... But this little game wasn't over. By no means. His little warrior schoolgirl would be in for another encounter before he was dont.

Of this he was certain. In her eyes, he saw the thread of potential. Enough to smile to himself, because Harvar D. Eclaire never lost the game.

A/N: Basically a two-way interaction from each POV. Mine is Harvar's side of the interaction and their love-hate crush


	3. Hail To The Queen

"I absolutely adore your earrings Tsubaki!"

"Really? I thought they were kinda boring..."

"Oh, of course not, Tsubaki. You shouldn't talk about yourself like that, you look as pretty as always!" Maka Albarn smiled, hands on her hips. Tsubaki, the unknowing helper in her master scheme, blushed and giggled and said something humbling and degrading, which Maka once again deflected. Even if this wasn't all an act, she truly did have to admit that they were in fact cute earrings. But the real matter on hand, the more important matter, would be her self-righteous task of defeating Harvar D. Eclair in this game they'd been playing for the past two weeks. In theory, she knew in the back of her head that he had likely never even played to begin with and that this was a most foolish way to handle her time. He was most certainly not worth the A- she now currently held in her favorite class, right?

_Wrong._

Harvar, as she had come to terms with, was the only worthy adversary in the entire school. And she adored him for it completely. At least, it was one of the reasons why she adored him. And it was no joke, she was winning. Maka was obviously the superior planner, setting up this perfectly believable interaction with her favorite female friend. Poor Tsubaki didn't need to know her motives, though Maka doubted she'd mind if she did. But Tsubaki could never know. No one could, this fight was hers and hers alone.

She cast a small side glance, drinking in a three second glimpse in his direction.

_Damn,_ he's gorgeous.

Maka shook her head, freeing the thought. So, once again, she was forced to accept that he was simply salivating to look at. She bet his hair was soft. _I wonder what it's like to tangle her fingers in a few locks and pull as hard as she could..._

Once again, her eyes wandered across the room.

And met his.

He stared through her, and dismissed her, throwing away her beautiful disguise.

That _bastard!_

Alright, that was it. This was the end, she was ending this. Over. She was taking her victory. How dare he dismiss her like that? Honestly! His nerve, his, his...

The bell rung, and she was off, crossing the room in a b-line to meet the weapon head on. Maka didn't feel like making a show, not yet. This game? Private. Instead, she grabbed his sleeve, dragging him into a small alcove of the hallway with slightly less force then she expected. Did he want her to take him? Take him... _No_, Maka. _We are not thinking that way_. No.

"Harvar D. Eclair. I am formally asking you in a civil manner to knock it off." She said with a purse of her lips, crossing her arms. Maka was winning, all he could do was submit. Hail to the queen.

"Knock what off, Maka Albarn? And was it truly necessary that I be taken in here? Honestly, Miss Albarn, self control and practicality."

Maka paused, for a moment, stood in awe. How. Dare. He? What was this defiance he was showing? Maka had never been directly challenged in such a matter, never once. Her authority among her social circle was absolute, at least in her own mind. Even if she didn't get her way at first, she always got it in the end. She earned it, deserved it! And yet, here was this boy. This gorgeous, intelligent boy, who rivaled her in a way she had never before come to face. If she had done such a thing to any of her other companions, they would've quickly accepted and moved on. But here? With him?

Did he really not know what she was getting at? Oh, of course he did. No way he didn't, he had to know. He just did. If he didn't he wouldn't have let her take him in here, and he'd of left. No, she knew that he was fully aware of their little affair, and she was not going to make it that simple. She was not going to give him a weak, pretty "So you weren't playing?". Or at least, not yet. She didn't think it would come to that, her resorting to that kind of tactic...

Was she even really considering that...?

"You, have been intentionally bothering me. And I, am telling you not to be an ass, and stop. Let's be mature, Harvar."

Her arms moved away from her chest to rest on her hips, raising a brow. He made no immediate response. Not a twitch. What was he thinking? Maka shifted her wait attempting to rule out his thoughts that were about as clear as the near opaque lenses of his visor. His eyes those dark, _sexy _eyes, they were expressive enough for her to call out his inner workings like they were scripted. She was good at that. If it wouldn't have been obvious, she'd of attempted to read his soul, but she didn't feel currently like sinking to the level of using her sixth sense. Now, if only he took of that visor...

Besides, it really was rude of him to wear those inside. Honestly. "And didn't your mother ever tell you that it's rude not to look someone in the eyes when you speak to them? Take off that visor, please."

"Intentionally bothering you?" He asked. "I have no logical means of doing that." He rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. As if that made him powerful, or something else absurd Maka narrowed her eyes. "Maka," He continued, "We sit on other ends of the room, and do not interact Has something I do subconsciously bothered you? Furthermore were you looking at me enough to be bothered?"

She opened her mouth and closed it, astounded. What if he was right? If he was telling the truth and not simply being difficult, he...didn't...care...

Furthermore, he blatantly ignored her request about his visor, instead continuing his speech.

"My parents passed away at the age of six. Violently, for a cause they fought their lives for if you must know. I apologize if my concept of 'rude' differs from your pedigree one." He was flat, cold and stoic, unfeeling from the viewpoint behind his visor.

Maka froze. This was not the kind of bluff that one could pull for this type of matter, this one had to be a truth. Her mind flew, her bleeding heart twisting itself into knots, then re twisting out of loathing, and twisting once more out of compassion. This left Maka feeling...mild conflicted.

Maka was a righteous girl. She was a power player and stood for what she believed, and this qualified as the type of situation she'd normally take hold of. But she had to think. Maka couldn't pull out her protective instinct, not now. She'd lose. He was being gusty, she'd give him that.

His parent's died? Is that why he lives with Ox? Violently...So that's why he's so closed off, I was right...The poor thing, I...I could never take advantage of that, could I? Maybe, I could but not at once. I can do that.

"...Take off your visor." She whispered calmly.

He protested.

She swallowed.

And leaned forward, snatching them off of his face. He really did have gorgeous eyes...

_._In an instant, his hand shot out, taking hold of hers and the visor in her grip. The area where their skin met tingled a little. She couldn't have imagined that could she? His eyes clouded. "Maka, I have studying to do. Return my sunglasses and we're not to speak of this again." His voice was unchanging, calculated.

He was running away. She was winning.

Maka felt an odd fluttering in her chest, swallowing. Her hand didn't move, white knuckled fingers clenched around her prize, eyes still locked on his. It felt glorious. Her heart thrashed in her chest, a faint blush raising to her cheeks. She did not falter though. Maka refused to falter There was a tension between them, alive and thick and smothering in the tiny room. It sat in her lungs, down her spine and through her thighs, little quivers of excitement Just standing there, eyes set, it felt almost...sensual, in a way. Exhilarating, by every means of the word. She dared not move, barely even daring to breathe, longing to hold this as long as possible. His gaze was intoxicating, so deep that maybe he should keep them covered in public. But they were not in public. They were in a closet in a hallway. No one was around, not a single witness.

She leaned forward, cutting at the normal bubble of personal space to a point where the slightest movement would result in a large scale collision of touch. Maka arched her back slightly, lightly pressing herself into his chest. She couldn't help herself.

_Calm yourself, Maka._

"Fine." She said calmly, loosening her grip on the glasses for him to take. "We never speak of this." Maka let herself smile, parting her lips slightly and leaning forward still.

And in a quick, fluid motion, she pulled herself away, opened the door and drifted out, not daring to look back over her shoulder.

Maka won this round. She knew it, deep in her core.

And she was more than thrilled for his next attack.


	4. One Pawn Down

He was done with his schoolwork. Maka Albarn was, as well. He knew that. For the past two weeks their game had continued. He was the cat, and she; the mouse armed with a needle sword. She was a player too; now, he'd begun to notice. She didn't fall so easily for the same glances, even from exposed eyes across the classroom, were they not well placed.

He could see her now as she chatted with the dark-haired weapon belonging to the insolent, arrogant meister. He could see them laugh at the antics of Maka's weapon. Oh, she'd gotten good. This was a perfect play at an ordinary classroom interaction. She seemed so disconnected from him in his intellectual world as he hid behind a work of Verne, she almost seemed not to see him. Almost.

She thought he didn't notice the sideways glance at him, the twitch of nerves she obviously displayed in her body. She thought they were twenty thousand leagues apart, that she was safe. _Up Parascope, Maka, _he thought. _Really, I'm hurt you thought I'd have given up or lost you.._. Harvar D. Éclair didn't lose. He didn't lose, especially at such an entertaining and addictive puzzle as the time he shared with Maka Albarn. He waited a while, naturally. He couldn't have her believing he knew just yet. So patiently the lace waited, periodically sliding his sunglasses further down his nose until dark eyes were nearly fully exposed. She seemed to be shocked when he did such a thing, each time more wonderful than the last.

It was now he looked up, one side of his mouth fully quirked. He smirked; eyes narrowed, and met her wide green ones. Target achieved. Yet it was boring, he realized. It wasn't good enough, simply for their current lock of eyes, for her to merely know he played with her. That had been the state of the game from day one. Harvar wanted more. He wanted Maka Albarn to lose her resolve, to tear down her walls of security and to fully lose it with him. Yes, then he could be the winner.

But would even that be their game's end? Surely not! He'd want to do more, to see more of her, his secret obsession each day in Stein's class. Ox hated the girl, and Harvar respected his meister enough to keep his thoughts on her private. But his pursuits were hungry, creating a demanding to see more of Maka Albarn. He wanted to know her, to feel her dig her nails into his wrist and demand to know what went on in his head.

Harvar Éclair was infatuated with Maka Albarn, he realized now. Now, as he broke their thirty-second eye contact, he could almost admit it. His mind wandered even, to the dream of her he'd had the night previous, which had been so glorious, so stolen, so forbidden. Her skin against his, her cheeks colored with blood, her eyes large, innocent, burning his... but most of all, at the end of the dream, in their final burst of passion, he recalled her gasping out his name, ecstasy and adoration thickening the two-syllable word that came from small, pink lips.

The bell rang, dismissing them all and piercing his fantasy, and as he walked away, he wondered. Was it really just the game that drew him to her? Was it really just her feminine nature versus his masculine? It couldn't be. Both were above such things. Was it her fire? Was it her equal prowess and intelligence to Ox that drew him to her? It was that, surely, or the presence she carried, or her tempting schoolgirl exterior that disguised a respectable warrior. Surely that was it. He respected and desired Maka Albarn. All the while, liking their game's secrecy, as she'd never admit to playing mind games (and losing) with the sort who kept his company in Ox Ford.

"-HARVAR? ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?" Ox roared as he ceased his reverie.

"Of course. You just asked me if I was listening. By the way, Kim has just walked by." And with that, his meister was gone. It was more convenient, in any sense.

And now, with Harvar alone, he saw her approach. He was halted in his steps, pressing his glasses against his eyes in preparation. Maka Albarn was approaching him. Phase one of the game? Complete.

Harvar, still stunned, even allowed himself to be dragged off in the direction that Maka had pulled him. She seemed genuinely, totally and entirely taken with the situation, face red, grip tight. Her nails dug into his wrists and he couldn't help but admit he was excited by it. She dragged him into a closet, shutting the door. One on one interaction. A risky move on her part. But one that, given the dark room and his sunglasses, would be well-handed.

"Harvar D. Éclair, I formally ask of you to knock it off." She pursed her lips and put her arms in a neat little crossing. Because, evidently, that world show him. It was cute, actually, the way Maka thought this made her so exceedingly tough. _Oh, Maka. Even if it did, I'd never submit. Not this early._

"Knock what off of what, Maka Albarn?" he coolly replied. Her facial featured deadened, not registering what he'd just spoken. "And was it truly necessary that I be taken in here? Honestly, Miss Albarn, self control and practicality." He said without any feeling aside from a defiant sense of superiority.

Maka thought she'd won. He knew otherwise. He knew there was no winning to be done in the first place, and that this game would go on so long as their semi-acquaintance would last. And somehow, by some odd chance, the idea made him hopeful. Hopeful she'd not bore of it either, that she'd still snap, still instigate and drag him into more dark rooms an puff herself up as she'd just done.

Because it thrilled him. Simple as that, it thrilled him, and he wanted to do the same to her. And furthermore, the strength of the argument. Really, Maka. 'Knock it off?' He knew she had more potential than that. Without it, he'd never take interest in her at all.

He watched as the blankness of her face went from blank to confused to frustrated. Ah, Maka, don't be hasty...

"You have been intentionally bothering me. And I am telling you not to be an ass, and stop. Let's be mature, Harvar." Maka huffed again, showing her aggravation, perseverance and fire that he adored in her. She didn't back down from the challenge, though he still felt she hadn't fully stepped up to it. And he still wasn't ahead in the game.

He glared down, intentionally, as always. Not only would it prove some normalcy, but also he didn't feel secure otherwise. "Intentionally bothering you?" He asked. "I have no logical means of doing that." He rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders tensely for good measure.

"Maka," He said, "We sit on other ends of the room, and do not interact. Has something I do subconsciously bothered you? Furthermore were you looking at me enough to be bothered?" _Maka, your ego needs a checking I hadn't realized_.

Harvar didn't want to go where he was about to. Not here, but all was fair in love and war. And in this closet, alone, with a beautiful enemy with soft blond hair and an endearing pout, he considered both criteria met.

"My parents passed away at the age of six, if you must know. Violently, for a cause they fought their lives for if you must know. I apologize if my concept of 'rude' differs from your pedigree one." Once more, his voice was feelingless, though mentioning his parents was dangerous. Not only would he need to check his emotions from here on out, there were eminent danger of her asking questions. Was it a worthy risk? He could only hope.

Maka's conflict was apparent as soon as the blasted speech left his mouth. And Harvar had expected as much. And he'd expected the emotional instability he was no experiencing at the mention of people he still cried for ten years after their deaths. He'd hold strong, though. He did not lose, and he most certainly did not show emotion in a closet with the sexually enticing enemy.

So long as he has the shield to the now pained eyes recovering from his words. So long as that was there, he was safe. Yet somehow, to his surprise, Maka Albarn's expression had toughened to the steely resolve he loved in her, the resolve she showed in class, on missions... and she had it now, in his weakest point. Danger, danger, red alert...

She moved forward in the silence before breaking it. "... Take off your visor." She whispered.

Unable to speak from shock and panic, he mumbled something, and he moved to stop the fleeting hand hurtling towards his face, but all too late. He felt the sunglasses' secure pressure removed from his face and he saw her clearer now in the dusty room, and their eyes locked without pretense. It was exhilarating. It was sickening. It was almost beautiful.

Harvar was losing. Not only that, he felt like he was sinking. He reached out with a robotic hand, stony jaw straight ahead and eyes still in shock and wonder and ever locked on hers. "Maka, I have studying to do. Return my sunglasses and we're not to speak of this again." It felt an automated message of error. He was not surrendering, but he was indeed retreating. For now, mind her. But still, he needed recovery, he needed thought. Was interacting face to face with Maka Albarn more than he could handle?

Whatever the case, Harvar had no idea of what his next action was to be, or if he'd get out of this closet still in the game or if Ox had noticed his absence when he needed someone to rave about Kim to. Harvar couldn't assess the situation before him.

Their eyes remained locked still, and Maka was breathing almost heavily. He could see adrenaline in her, and he hoped she couldn't see his terror. Undoubtedly, she took this as surrender. He couldn't deny it. Maka was ahead now.

"Fine." Her grip loosened on the glasses, and he removed them from her soft, small hand. Harvar did not breath, and he did not look back at her as he left the supply closet. He was losing ground in a game where he made up the rules. This, of course, the lance would not allow. He would be back for more, she must be sure of that, too. And the checkmate would be unexpected, beautiful and dramatic.

**A/N: Well, this was a complicated chapter to write. The two of us had to exchange in between every interaction over a series of emails. R&R?**


	5. Daydream

"...And I mean, Black*Star probably _meant_ well, I just think..."

Maka nodded, totally not hearing a single word that came out of Tsubaki's mouth. She twirled a lock of hair, her eyes in dreamy half moons. Her freshly painted nails, now a seashell pink, drummed on the table in the rhythm of a song in her head. Her mind was far from Black*Star and what ever it was the 'big' guy had done this time. In fact, it was the fourth week in a row that her mind had lingered on the same, now tangible fact.

She absolutely hated Harvar D. Eclair as if he was an evil kishin who's only purpose on this earth was to cause her tension and mental torment. And she loved him at least three times more.

Tsubaki smiled, gesturing with her hands in a way Maka guessed was positive.

"Oh, I agree with you Tsubaki." Maka nodded, and allowed Tsubaki to dive back into her story.

Maka was hopelessly addicted to the thoughts that danced behind her eyes. Tsubaki could wait. Harvar waited for no one. To be honest, even when she _wasn't_ thinking of him, she'd see him. He was always there, in a table by hers, or just conveniently in her line of sight. He always was, it didn't matter where she went. She'd go shopping, or to the park, or_anywhere_. And every single time, he was there. Maka couldn't even really know if he was, she'd probably picture him sitting across her no matter where she went anyway.

Half of the time, it annoyed her. He was following her, he had to be. And every time she saw him, she felt the near irresistible urge to stop on his foot with all her might. The other half of the time was spent fantasizing about other things, less violent in nature. Like stealing his glasses. Or tangling her fingers in his hair. Or making out with him. She'd bet he was a good kisser...

She'd often spend time thinking about him, about _them_. This little game they play. She'd think about the only time she'd spoken with him, locked in that little closet. The way that she could feel every move he made without touching him, the electricity in the air. It was like they were kinetic, like their sous were burning where they touched. She couldn't have been the only one feeling sparks, right?

Maybe he's the lightning spear for a reason...

Maka crossed and uncrossed her legs, mouth suddenly feeling a little dry.

Ahem.

Maka took a deep breath, making a vague response to Tsubaki's unimportant question. She didn't even hear what Tsubaki said this time, mind instead hearing that low, slight growl to his voice. The way it sounded when he said her name. _Eclair is a french last name, is it not? I wonder if he speaks french._

Was it hot today, or what?

She pursed her lips, pulling her pigtail a little harder. They were likely lopsided now, a problem she'd deal with later. Maka rolled her shoulders, closing her eyes.

She saw his face, the delicate eyes and strong jaw. She saw his dark hair, the silver rings in his ear. Maka subconsciously licked her lips, mind stretching in a thousand ways it rarely did. He was gorgeous. Yeah. She'd fully come to understand how gorgeous he was.

That moment in the closet, when they were alone. She remembered it, that second when his eyes softened and broke. How he spoke of his parent's violent deaths. Maka was a bleeding heart, humanitarian and a sucker for a boy with a dark side. In that second, he didn't look so ridged and strong. He looked all raw and open, and Maka had felt the strong urge to embrace him and kiss his nose and tell him it'd be alright. She'd make it be alright. She didn't are how big the monster, Maka vowed to slay his demons. That is, if he'd ever allow that.

Maybe even if he didn't allow it.

Maka wanted to know everything, to see every fold of his life. She wanted to peel away the mask and see his colors beneath, to know the man that is Harvar Eclair. She had to. She _must._

And then of course, that damn stoic demeanor of his made him so hard to read.

She'd break him in. She never had failed before.

Tsubaki finished her narrative, Maka toning her approval with a smile.

It's on, Harvar D. Eclair.

It is _so _on.


	6. Mental Takeover

**A/N: Ta-daaa! Another issue of our lovely fic. So, I'm really self-conscious about this chapter. I feel his back-story, which I put much into is just spit out here. Tell me if you guys like it, and if you'd like further flashback.**

He lay on the shared apartment of he and Ox, hair down, overshirt abandoned. He buried his face in a book, his blessed escape from reality and relaxation. He'd made quite the mistake in that closet.

Maka was more devious than he'd imagined. She didn't attack immediately. She had never been incompetent at all, merely waiting for her real strike. Harvar was not playing at his game alone any longer, he realized.

But why, why had he mentioned his parents? Why did he bring up the sensitive subject of the witch-hunters who died in their craft when Harvar, a boy in France at the time, of only six-years-old was left alone? They were the only things ever to bring tears to his eyes, and did so once per year. May the first, his parents were wed. Each year he had with them, the two danced, they drank and the house was full of music and sweet incense smoke.

"_They died. Violently."_ How right he'd been. Nicolas Éclair had seen his death coming, had told his young son not to cry. Since that day, he felt he'd betrayed them any time his eyes began to water. Witch hunters in trade, the late Simone and Nicolas of Brittany, France left the standing mark and inspiration on their son, who'd lived nearly ten years now with the kindly Ford family.

He stared down, emptily at the pages before him, and only the burst of the door shocked him from the memories plaguing him. _"Don't cry, _mon fils_, Your Maman needs someone to hold to. Someone of the strength only an Éclair man can possess."_ The last words played over and over to him until at last the wails of a certain meister with eccentric hair awakened him.

"HARVAR!" Ox was but a flailing mess. "WHERE WERE YOU IN MY HOUR OF NEED?" He demanded of his cold and wondering other.

"Out. I was attending to some things," Harvar put up his general mask, all glaring and indifference. Ox, his brother in bond could not still begin to understand. He knew well of his weapon's parents, surely. But of Maka? Ox was hardly the man to tell.

"Things more important than studying?"

"I've been doing so here. Alone." This was not a lie, not that Harvar was opposed to lying. However, with one he respected, he did take some effort upon himself to tell the truth. He'd studied from the time he returned home from the closet encounter with Maka.

"But… But I saw Kim! In the library!" Ox removed the goggles concealing his eyes, which showed only desperation and a touch of idiotic, overbearing, sickly-sweet _amour._

"Well, I'm not terribly surprised that you saw Kim. Both of you attend the exact same academy." Harvar shrugged. "Though that she's intelligent enough to locate the library, let alone do so, now that's a surprise."

A shocked gasp, a look of betrayal. "How dare you talk of my sweet Kim in such a manner? Harvar, I thought we were _partners!" _Harvar only managed to sigh in irritation. It wasn't as if Ox would enjoy the girl he endeavored for. Were he to mention his feelings for Maka Albarn, Ox would become a disgusted mess, all disapproval and false worldliness.

"My apologies. What _was_ I thinking?" What did Harvar feel for Maka Albarn? Mild contempt, a bit of an enemy, a respectable intellect, an admirable strength as he'd seen in his late mother, an alluring and attractive innocence… and perhaps, on some level, affection. Harvar wanted to tell her of his history. Not now, of course. He'd not the trust in her to do so by far. But to know her, to know him was tempting. To touch her, to feel her… the very thought had begun to taunt his dreams. Harvar D. Éclair, to his own horror, desire Maka Albarn on an emotional and sexual level. It disgusted and intrigued him.

He found himself going places, the next few days where he knew she'd be. And even when he made no attempt whatsoever, they seemed not to be able to avoid one another any more, even when they tried quite hard to do so.

He had to stop this, he resolved at once. He'd go somewhere not connected to the school. DeathBucks. DeathBucks was safe, and he could use the caffeine. "Ox," He inquired to the boy flipping through a new journal featuring connections between anatomy and soul wavelength—one Harvar envied him for having got his hands on first. "I have some level of desire for coffee. Care to attend?"

"Nah."

"… Please do attend?"

"Nah. Not up for it." Harvar sighed, and, resigning himself to going alone, gathered his books and exited the library. At the least, he could study alone, from the book Ox had wanted to read, and that Harvar grabbed first. If Ox got the journal, Harvar got the biography of the Oldest living Vampire and Café au lait to go with.

He ordered the treat and seated himself in a booth by the back window, one with cracked leather for its seats and with the obvious Death Mask logo sitting atop the table. As he waited for his drink to finish, he kept only one of the wire-attached buds from his music player in so as to hear and began to tuck into the biography.

The music, dark and with a sensually heavy bass, did not block the sound away when his order was called. Nor, as he walked back to the booth the very voice he wanted out of his head and ears.

"Yeah, probably," She was answering to her friend, the weapon with the unworthy meister. Maka was here. He sat down, pulling his glasses close to his face. Back to the bloodsucking, nonsexual nonfiction. Yes. That was safe, that was research. Research was his purpose in life… So why is it he was so tempted by long legs and green eyes and blond pigtails… She'd forgone the sweater vest on this hot day, and the closer sight of her small but proportionate breasts teased him, made his mouth go dry.

No, look away, don't become weak… And she caught his eye. Just as he'd begged not to happen, they were locking eyes. The game's next round was on. And soon.


End file.
